


it's complicated

by decidingdolan



Series: your words (my songs) [1]
Category: Sing Street
Genre: M/M, Rabbits, it's always about the girl...unless it...isn't, post songwriting shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the boys spend a little downtime together. a bit of hands. a bit of lips. and, because of Eamon, rabbits are somehow involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's complicated

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: based on the characters featured within the FICTIONAL film, Sing Street. in no way related/meant to resemble any real persons, living or dead.

 

> _try to open up your minds,_
> 
> _let go,_
> 
> _and you feel your heart liberated._
> 
> _all the complicated boys, boys, boys, boys._
> 
> _\- "Girls" (Sing Street OST, 2016)_

* * *

 

It's those damn rabbits.

Say what you will, remember it how you would, but you would always, always blame those rabbits in your head.

Eamon's staring at you, wide eyes behind those specs left askew at the bridge of his nose. There's a blink, once. Subtle enough. Quiet enough. Your guitars lay on the floor, opposite each other, just as you both were, and you were praying--honest to God--praying that he'd break the silence. Accidentally brush a finger on a string. Strum a note. Hum. Punch you senseless (no...he _wouldn't_ ). Just. Say. Something.

For Christ's sake, Eamon.

 

"I'm--"

"Did you just--"

"I--"

"Conor, _Jesus_."

 

And it was like Christmas rolled into St. Patrick's when Eamon's usual deadpanned voice bundled up your name and the Lord's (you made a mental crossing gesture) and his lips crashed onto yours, those long legs wrangling their way into your personal space, in between your thighs.

If there ever was a time to curse...

His palms were still on your cheeks when you parted. Heat. Could have sworn you heard his heart bouncing on a trampoline. (Like yours was any calmer.)

 

"So--"

"I mean--"

"Raphina..."

"Eamon!" you cocked an eye at him. Remember it. Breathe it in. This feeling. This anxiety. The air around you, dense and moist from both your breaths. The slight pressure from his knees pushing against your thighs. Those patterns on his fingertips pressing against your skin.

_Eamon, Eamon, Eamon._

"You kissed me first," he replied. Bit of a retort, actually, the fucker. The guitarist's lips twisted into a smirk, so out of place with that calm face you had to capture it in your mind.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, slow, deliberate. Traced his collarbone underneath his shirt with your finger.

A twitch. A breath.

So much for payback.

"She's not you," you said, leaning in to kiss him again, a hand on his shirt collar, another on his back, drawing him in. Drawing him close.

"Uh," he's licking his lips, and goddamn if you didn't want to feel them all over you.

_Yes. Fucking. Please._

 

"Care to translate, Mr. Riddle of the Model?"

 

Couldn't resist a literal jab in the ribs on him for that one.

(Come on. Seriously. Now?

You pick 'em like you see 'em, Conor.)

 

"I mean," you're searching his eyes, the subsided drumming in the pit of your stomach intensified at their focus, at seeing yourself reflected in those pale greens.

 

Fuck, what ever did you look like about now?

 

"Well, you've seen her."

"Yes, I have."

"And..."

"And...?"

"Quit it, Eams, you know why."

 

He chuckled then, finger pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Hate to say that I don't," those lips took yours in, and, yeah, okay, you held your breath when his tongue lingered on yours, "But do I ever."

Your lips found themselves at the base of his neck when he let you go. A nip there. A little bite. And you're humming to the hushed rhythm of his breaths.

"You and your bloody rabbits," you're muttering. More to yourself than to him. More a confessed sin than an actual irritated mumble.

"Rabbits." He's got his eyes closed, hands splayed on your knees, and wasn't that a beautiful sight.

A goddamn masterpiece of your making, no less.

 

"Unff...uh...ff...jealous?"

Your lips trailed up to his ear now. Long licks. Teeth grazing. Getting yourself acquainted with the taste of his skin.

 

"Much," you smiled against his skin. "God knows you'd ever touch me like th--"

 

A hand squeezed your shoulder.

 

"Conor," and the way he pronounced your name ruled over any other sound you'd heard. Ever. "With you, I'd--" teeth on bottom lip, cheeks red and glasses askew, and Eamon had never looked better in your eyes. "I'd do more than just touch, man--"

 

"--I mean. Come on, what do you take me for?"

 

"...a rabbit freak?"

He's the one glaring at you this time. A hand slipped under your waistband, and you gasped.

"Could be worse, I guess," he tutted, eyes locked onto yours and hand slipping lower. Lower.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

No turning back.

 

"Like..." your brain's ability to compute was growing hazy by the second.

"Like...totally obsessed. Nothing but--"

He's got you. Oh. fuck. He's got you.

"Rabbits, and--"

A rub from the root to the tip--the tease--and you sucked in a breath.

Come on.

"--rabbits."

He's speeding up now. You had your eyes shut, your muscles tight.

"...ff...faster, Eams. Please. Fuck, uhff--faster."

"Told you you'd be more fun," he grinned, pressed his lips to yours and smoothed back your hair. You're rocking against him, hips thrusting forward, heat pumping through your bloodstream.

" _Eams_..."

He finished up, faster than you could muster words. You'd slammed your back against the wall when you came. His other hand's fingers knotted themselves in your hair.

 

"You're--"

 

"You were gorgeous, Conor," he's whispering against your ear, and you weren't quite sure yourself what your body temperature was. "Really just..."

His hand left your trousers, reached for a tissue and wiped himself clean. Handed you one.

"Thanks," you nodded, grabbing the tissue from him.

"Thanks for the kiss, actually. Took you long enough."

"Oh. God." You're shaking your head, eyes cast down at the floor, "You're not telling them I'm jealous of your rabbits."

 

He shrugged. Took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirtsleeve before putting them back on. "Maybe I should."

 

" _Eams.._."

 

"What," his lips pecked at your cheeks, hands at your thighs. He's smiling. He's smiling, and you'd lost track of when those lips were stretched so wide. "You practically live here, Con."

"Showing up at odd hours. Writing songs." His turn. The pressure on your neck. Those lips. Sucking. "Keeping my ma up--"

"I--" your eyes drifted shut as the back of your head hit the wall, lips murmuring a low purr.

 

This. All of this.

Because of him.

(Unbelievable.)

 

"--I'm sorry..?" eyes open, you reached out a hand, fingers fumbling in those thick locks of his. "Are you saying--"

"I'm just saying," his finger was tracing the outline of your jaw, "You're _my_ rabbit. You're always welcome here."

 

"Your rabbit."

"My rabbit."

"Your....?"

"Yes."

"Yours."

"Yea."

 

"...So about keeping your rabbits on the bed--"

 

And you cursed yourself for blushing as you said it. He raised an eyebrow.

 

"I'm game if you are."

**Author's Note:**

> first time with these two. my boys, oh. my boys.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for stopping by, reading, and/or reviewing,
> 
> Your ever humble fanfic writer
> 
> x


End file.
